


Lifted

by TheDoctorSmith



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Clexa, Crack, Cunnilingus, Elevator Sex, F/F, Fluff and Smut, Kneeling, One-Shot, Oral Sex, Smut, clarke hates lifts, clexa crack, kind of, logical lexa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-25
Updated: 2017-04-25
Packaged: 2018-10-23 21:32:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10727679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDoctorSmith/pseuds/TheDoctorSmith
Summary: One-shot set in an alternate season 3 where the betrayal at Mt. Weather never happened, Clarke didn't commit genocide, but accepted Lexa's offer to visit Polis.Clarke really hates using the lift in Polis Tower.  Lexa knows how to calm her nerves.Titus may never recover.





	Lifted

The party was wearing on into the wee hours; the bonding ceremony between the Floukru ambassador and the Broadleaf ambassador’s eldest daughter had been the most raucous ceremony Clarke had yet witnessed, in the sky or on the ground. The happiness of the lovers and their companions was catching, filling the late summer evening with song and laughter. Clarke was certain she saw the Commander’s mouth rise in something of a smile more than once. To her frustration, she could not meet the Commander’s eyes; the woman had been avoiding her all evening. 

Groggy with the Grounder’s version of moonshine (so much better than Monty’s, not that she’d tell him), Clarke swayed a little in her seat as she took in her surroundings: the Floukru embassy was decorated in bright green and blue colours, oceanic images decorating the walls of a building Clarke was certain had once been a school. She continued to be surprised by how much of the old world remained in the new: musicians played guitars and fiddles, tunes that sounded sweet and familiar, and the dances were no different from the way kids danced on the Ark. 

As the Skaikru ambassador, Clarke did her best to maintain goodwill, presenting the wives-to-be with a gift she’d made herself: a portrait of the two women in a silvery frame she’d found amongst the storerooms of Polis tower. She’d even danced a little, and indulged in the honey-sweet alcohol until dancing was no longer an option. She noted, with a little dismay that the Commander never danced nor partook of the wine. She remained stoic and aloof, the most important link in this chain of people, yet decorum kept her at an arm's length from shared joy. 

_And I’m_ not _feeling sorry for her._

 

**

The Commander held court at the head table, engaging in conversation with all those who dared approach: she had decided playing _Heda_ for such an occasion was unnecessary and even dressed down from her usual attire, in order to seem less intimidating. Instead of her dark overcoat and pauldron, she wore a shorter, leather coat with the only reminder of her office, the red sash, draped around her shoulder and waist. She knew better than to indulge too much, she existed as a figurehead for her people, a steadying influence representing the best of what they are and would be. It would not do to be seen drunk or in anyway out of her usual character. She remained, she hoped, _casually_ indifferent, yet gently _magnanimous._

‘Doesn’t the Commander get to enjoy the party?’ 

Lexa’s spine stiffened at the sound of Clarke’s dusky tone; her words did not slur, but the sway of her walk and the relaxed tilt of the young ambassador’s head suggested considerable inebriation. Arching one eyebrow (not, she told herself, in an attempt to pull herself up even straighter than usual), the Commander gestured for the other woman to sit.

‘It would not be seemly, Clarke. This might be a festive occasion, but my people still have certain expectations of me. I enjoy it as I can. You seem to be merry enough. I hope you have been pleased with our celebrations. I’m sorry more of Skaikru could not attend.’ 

In spite of her drunkenness, Clarke knew a reprimand when she heard it. _Her_ people were still reluctant to blend in with the locals, preferring to stay behind Arkadia’s ever-growing walls. The Commander’s concerns were shared with the other clans and she dreaded the discussion that was coming. Sooner or later, her people had to integrate: their recent triumph aiding the Commander and her army at defeating the _maunon_ only gave them so much respect amongst the Coalition. If they continued to isolate themselves, that respect would soon wear away to distrust and suspicion. It was the last thing they needed. 

_Not tonight, please, not tonight._

‘Well, they’re busy trying to prepare for the hunting…stuff…and the crops aren’t quite what they expect.’

‘We could help with that.’

‘They know. I think they just want to see if they can do it on their own.’

‘Self-sufficiency is admirable, but there are times when more _experienced_ assistance might be called upon.’

Clarke smiled, nodding, her eyelids suddenly too heavy and yet, the way the Commander looked at her, so focused and gentle, she wanted to bask in it a little longer. Dropping her elbows heavily onto the table, Clarke leaned her face into her hands, still swaying, as if to music only she could hear, staring into the other woman’s eyes. 

‘You’re always so logical, Commander. Lexa the logical. You’re like a Vulcan. Like Mr. Spock. You are just like Mr. Spock. You guys would get along so good. You’d be like logic buddies. Doing the logic thing.’ 

The Commander could not help but smile at the Sky girl’s drunken ramblings, could not help but stare at the watery pools of blue shimmering in the candlelight. 

‘I would like to meet this Mr. Spock. Perhaps when we visit Arkadia you can arrange an introduction for me.’

Bursting in a sudden fit of giggles, Clarke waved a hand in front of her face, forcing herself to calm down. 

‘Well, um, that might be a little difficult, but I’ll see what I can do.’ 

A brief silence reigned as Clarke’s giggles tapered off and the Commander, clearly uncomfortable, set her eyes to wander the room. 

‘I’m pleased with the decorations. Did you notice, Clarke?’ 

It was Clarke’s turn to raise an eyebrow, but she followed the Commander’s gaze and nodded in acknowledgement. 

‘It’s great. Nice. Reminds me, though - we need to discuss Skaikru having an embassy, don’t we? I mean, if you want my people to visit, giving us a place to stay would be a good idea.’

The Commander frowned a little, turning her attention back to the smirking blonde.

‘Of course, that makes sense.’

‘Not that I hate the tower or anything.’

The Commander straightened herself again.

‘You do hate the tower. You have said so many times, Clarke.’

Sobering a little, Clarke mimicked the Commander’s posture.

‘No, I never said that, I said I hate the _lift._ I don’t like the lift. It’s creaky and slow and it freaks me out.’ 

‘I thought you would prefer living at the top of the tower, that you would enjoy the height, the view, the expanse of it.’

‘Why? Because I once lived in the sky? I don’t mind, but I don’t need it. If we get an embassy, there will be no lifts. I want that in writing. You promise.’

The Commander kept her gaze on the table, unwilling to look up.

‘So…you no longer wish to live in the tower?’ 

Shaking her head, her smile like a cat’s, Clarke leaned across the table, using two fingers to lift the Commander’s chin.

‘Would you miss me?’ 

Maintaining her composure while so close to _that most beautiful face,_ the Commander did her best to keep from leaning any closer. It was bad enough that her palms were sweating and she could feel a trickle of sweat roll down the back of her neck. Words were becoming impossible.

‘I – I would certainly miss our conversations.’ 

Clarke grinned, pleased at having rattled the Commander’s cool exterior, and sat back in her seat, her eyes sharp and narrow as a shot of warmth pulsed between her legs. 

‘I think I’d miss some of our _nightly_ exchanges.’ 

A flush crossed the Commander’s face as her eyes dropped to the ambassador’s ample cleavage, suddenly appreciating the handiwork of the Polis dressmakers – when a burly guard approached their table. 

‘Heda? The ambassadors are waiting to depart.’ 

The guard gestured to the weary-looking crowd, massing near the exits, impatient to be on their way. 

The Commander stood and moved away from the table, _Heda_ once again, and saluted her people. 

‘Let me give my thanks to the Floukru and Broadleaf clans for their immense hospitality and kindness. My blessings for their union and for the future of our Coalition as it thrives in friendship and kinship. I hope to see more of these occasions in the near future. Good evening everyone.’ 

Bowing to their _Heda_ , the guests took their leave, doing their best to stay upright as they made off to their respective homes. 

‘I might need an escort, Commander. What do you say?’

Clarke smirked as she held out a hand and the Commander reached for it, green eyes briefly skimming a pale and generous bosom as she helped the girl to rise. 

‘I can hardly say no, Clarke. We do live in the same place.’ 

Clarke leaned in, ignoring the glances of the guards, and ran her hands along the Commander’s sash. 

‘What a happy coincidence.’

The Commander’s blush matched the colour of her sash. 

‘We will have to take the lift, Clarke.’

At this, the blonde pushed herself away and began an unsteady march toward the doors.

‘Thanks for the reminder, skipper.’ 

 

**

 

The night held a chill of early autumn, smells of wood fires and distant rain, smells Clarke was becoming accustomed to, even longed for. She felt herself grow steadily sober on the walk back to Polis tower, and the warmth that had bloomed in her centre was catching fast, melting her a little, slowing her gait. It was a pleasurable torture, one that would need tending – soon. 

_Lexa’s eyes on her breasts, the way her lips wet themselves, making her feel so wet, so_ wet.

The Commander had not glanced at her once on their walk. The handful of guards stayed at a respectful distance, but one must have murmured as Clarke slowed, impatient to return home. 

‘Are you alright, ambassador?’

Clarke didn’t realise she’d been gazing up at the stars, or that she had almost come to a complete stop, until she dropped her face to the twinkle of clear green before her. To the generous mouth, full lips slightly parted, the hint of tongue - 

‘Sorry. Guess I’m just a little…tired.’ 

The hot stare she was being given gave the Commander goose flesh. 

Taking Clarke by the elbow, the Commander steered her toward the tower entrance, just scant metres away. 

‘We’ll have you in bed soon, Clarke.’

A flurry of enticing, fleshy images dancing in her brain, Clarke leaned against the taller woman, impressed at how well she maintained her stoic façade, and placed her lips close to a chill-stung ear, warming it, whispering.

‘Would that be _your_ bed, Heda?’

The Commander made a surreptitious review of her guard, hoping they only thought Clarke drunk and not openly flirting with her. 

‘Open the lift.’

Two tall guards pulled open the heavy, metal doors and the Commander ushered a smiling Clarke inside. Another guard was about to enter with them when she held up a hand. 

‘That is all, Bors. I will see to the ambassador.’

Confused, the guard nevertheless obeyed and signaled to her companions to raise the lift.

Once the doors were closed, Clarke backed herself against the wall opposite, stroking her hands along the steel railing. 

‘I really do hate this thing. Makes me so… _anxious._ ’ 

The Commander stepped closer, the lapels of her coat glancing against the hardened peaks from Clarke’s dress. 

‘Perhaps I can do something to distract you, ambassador?’ 

Clarke’s mouth went slack as she watched the tall, narrow form of the Commander slide to her knees, their eyes locked in each other’s orbit, unblinking. 

The Commander’s hands were surprisingly warm as they drifted up the sides of Clarke’s legs, lifting the hem of her dress higher and higher. Long fingers splayed along her hips and then behind, caressing beneath shredded lace, pulling the material away. Clarke’s breath came in short gasps as she watched the Commander nuzzle at the golden down between her legs.

Not a moment later, her hand reached out to grasp a handful of intricate braids as tender lips closed around her cunt, the Commander’s tongue hot and smooth and knowing. 

 

**

The Flamekeeper, Titus, did not like being woke in the middle of the night. He was an anxious person by nature and almost anything could stress him into near apoplexy. He had not been happy with his Heda refusing a full guard to the bonding ceremony, a stress that had left him with five fewer fingernails earlier that evening. Now he was being harried into unwelcome wakefulness by one of his junior assistants. 

‘What is it?’

The assistant, hardly more than 15, worried the cords of her bed gown as she gestured for the older man to follow her.

‘We heard sounds from the lift, as it was coming up, screams the guards said, and I raced up here to warn you.’ 

The Flamekeeper grabbed her by the shoulder as they hurried toward the corridor and the lift doors beyond.

‘Did you alert the handmaidens?’

‘I didn’t have to. Even the Nightbloods are awake from it.’

Cursing inwardly that his bed was too soft and would need to be replaced with a slab or even a board, anything so he would not sleep too deeply, Titus halted as he saw the group of guards, handmaidens and a few of the older Nightbloods gathered around the lift doors. 

‘What is it?’ 

Kell, the senior handmaiden, held up her hand, pointing to the still-closed doors of the lift.

She signaled to the guards and spears and swords were raised to the ready. 

‘It is almost here.’

 

**

‘Almost…I’m so fucking close, Lexa…don’t fucking stop.’ 

Clarke’s hands grasped frantically at now-loose braids, her hips thrusting rhythmically against Lexa’s insistent tongue, sliding hot and wet through her folds, around her clit, her face no longer visible, as if she had merged or melted into the Sky girl’s pulsing cunt. 

Long, slim fingers kneaded around one bare breast, as another hand gripped a slippery thigh, the Commander’s fierce desire holding her fast to Clarke’s body, desperate to be folded within, desperate to give release. 

Chancing a look above, Lexa’s heart felt to bursting at the sight of Clarke’s face, drawn in wild throes of fury and ecstasy, and she pressed further, tighter against that delicate knot of nerves, lathing over and over her love for this girl who fell from the sky. 

 

Pressed so tightly, blood pounding through her ears, she could not hear Clarke’s scream of final gratification, only the violent pull of fingers through her hair, the shudder of a satisfying peak, finally reached. 

 

**

 

Rare have been the moments that Clarke Griffin has felt complete: beating Wells at chess, helping her mother save a life, ending a terrible campaign of war and strife with a peaceful alliance. 

When Lexa first kissed her. 

When Lexa knelt before her, swearing to be faithful and true. 

When she first came with Lexa’s name still forming on her lips. 

Floating now, high above the earth, suspended in Lexa’s arms, held in Lexa’s mouth, melting on Lexa’s tongue. 

Loosening her hold on Lexa’s braids, she relaxes down just a little, unwilling to let go of the moment and the closeness of Lexa, still pressed warm and soft against her, the completeness of it, she opens her eyes as the doors of the lift slide open – 

_Fuck my life._

 

**

 

As the lift reached its destination, the screams ended and Kell motioned for two of the guards to pry open the door. 

‘Be ready! Sera, keep the Nightbloods back!’ 

Titus was the first to charge forth, ready to defend – or avenge – his Commander. He stopped short of the doors, the knife in his hand dropping to the floor as his eyes grew to the size of dinner plates. Kell pushed around him, panicked, and froze.

Clarke looked up, silent, in horror, assessing the current situation: before her were Titus, Kell and at least fifteen guards and handmaidens with raised weapons pointed in her direction. Behind the guards were half the Nightbloods, jumping up on the balls of their feet, trying to see what was happening. 

Still tied to her middle, Lexa nuzzled content and quiet, eyes closed, unaware. 

Clarke gently removed Lexa’s hand from her breast and adjusted her garment to better cover herself. Stroking Lexa’s hair, she smiled at the horrified expressions of the congregated souls before her and softly tapped her lover’s shoulder. 

Rousing herself to look up, Lexa smiled, a true expression of happiness, her face covered in the drying remains of Clarke’s release. Before she could speak, Clarke silenced her with a single finger across her lips, then turned the kneeling woman’s head just enough so she could see what was behind her. 

As if she had been momentarily electrified, Lexa shot to her feet, spinning around to face her mortified protectors, and using her own body to cover Clarke’s. 

‘I don’t recall ordering a battalion this evening.’

Kell regarded her with open sarcasm.

‘Screams were heard coming from the lift – all 30 stories reported the noise, Heda. Should we have ignored that?’ 

Shamed into silence, Lexa looked from Titus (who had frozen solid on the spot) to Kell, to the guards and even to the lurking Nightbloods who couldn’t quite make out what was going on. 

From behind her, Clarke pinched her arm. 

‘I think you need to dismiss your staff, _Heda._ Some of us are a little cold.’ 

‘Yes, of course. Thank you, everyone, for your diligence and swiftness of service. I apologise but assure you that all is well and you may return to bed, or whatever you were doing. _Now_ , if you please.’

Smirking, Kell waved the guards off and dragged the still-frozen Titus from the lift. The remaining handmaidens pushed the leering Nightbloods back down the hall and to their rooms. 

‘Lex?’

The Commander had not moved from her spot, guarding Clarke in the lift.

‘Yes?’ 

‘I’m freezing, let’s go to bed.’ 

Lexa nodded, silent.

‘That means we move now, Lex. We have to walk forward and down the hall. Let’s do that.’

Pushing her lover forward, Clarke grabbed the stunned woman’s arm and held her all the way to her room. 

 

**

 

Morning was not quite on the horizon as Clarke stirred; warm from the body she was cradled against, a sweet breath dancing along her ear. 

‘It was all your fault,’ Lexa’s voice, low and soothing against her skin. 

Clarke smiled, bright and confident.

‘Yes it was, all my fault. I’m such a terrible person.’

‘And all because you hate that lift.’

Clarke shifted and turned in the other woman’s arms, tracing her fingers lightly across Lexa’s face.

‘Oh no, I _love_ that lift. It’s the most magical lift in the whole world.’

Lexa frowned.

‘Clarke, it is likely the _only_ lift in the whole world.’

‘My logical Lexa, missing the point. Again.’ 

Lips parted and pressed and parted again. 

‘Does this mean you’ll stay? Or do you still want an embassy?’

Clarke raised herself on one arm and looked thoughtful.

‘No, I still want the embassy – I’m sure my people would be more inclined to visit if they knew there was a place reserved for them – and don’t we deserve to be treated just as the other clans are? I believed you promised to treat my people as your people, Lexa. Your words.’ 

Lexa’s frown deepened as she dipped her nose along Clarke’s collarbone and skimmed the tops of her breasts with her lips. 

‘I will do it, Clarke - but then protocol will demand that the ambassador of Skaikru live in the embassy. After last night, I’m sure Titus would insist upon it.’ 

Clarke raised an eyebrow in amusement. 

‘Skaikru might need a new ambassador, Commander.’ 

Lexa raised herself to mimic Clarke.

‘Oh? And what shall you do then, Clarke of the Sky People?’ 

Straddling the Commander as she rolled her onto her back, Clarke leaned over and held onto the bedposts, dragging her growing wetness back and forth along Lexa’s stomach. She smirked at the enchanted expression beneath her, the sleepy green eyes locked onto the sway of her breasts. 

With one hand, she forced the Commander to look up to her face.

‘Whatever I want, Commander. Whatever. I. want.’

‘And what do you want, ambassador?’ 

Clarke leaned down, twining her arms around Lexa’s head and stared deeply into her eyes. 

‘I think you know.’ 

Lips met and tongues danced and for once, the Commander was allowed to enjoy the party. 

 

**

 

The noon hours were close when the Commander woke, her arms filled with Clarke, and she caressed the light hairs on her cheek, gently kissing the tiny wrinkles from her forehead. 

Clarke’s eyes remained closed and the Commander held her and grew thoughtful.

‘If you no longer wish to be ambassador, Clarke, what about this Mr. Spock you mentioned? You said he was a logical sort of person, he might make a logical choice?’

Against her neck, Lexa felt Clarke’s giggles; when the other girl looked up at her raised eyebrow and curious expression, she was kissed so soundly she hardly had another thought for the rest of the day. 

 

END

**Author's Note:**

> Please don't tell my mother.


End file.
